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Title: Nothing to be Scared of (2/5)
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Genre: Gen
Rating: R -- Language, violence/implied violence
Word Count: ~10,000 overall, 2275 this part
Warnings/Spoilers: Preseries
Disclaimer: Fanfic, for fun, not profit.
Summary: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
afteriwake for the long-past-due SPN_Holiday. She wanted a story about Dean meeting a bully at school. I had every intention of doing that simple story, only it had a mind of it's own and it grew into something much longer. The basic concept is still there, just tweaked a little. I hope it still works for her, I just couldn't write a bully that Dean would actually be bullied by without taking it to this next step.
Note: Posted in five parts, I plan on posting one part a day. Read Part 1 here.
Four days later and Dean was no closer to figuring out how to deal with George Grefe than he'd been on Monday. The fact that he hadn't seen him since then did nothing to ease Dean's fears. Equally annoying was that he couldn't figure Mrs. Mitchell out, either.
She was his dad's age, quiet and polite with the irritating habit of being cheerful and happy all the time. Little cutesy figures covered her desk and even more cutesy posters were tacked all over her walls. Dean had a hard time reconciling the person who made George Grefe back down with someone who would hang pictures of cute kittens proclaiming "Hang in there". She wasn't even a real a teacher, just an aide who worked in the library, so he wasn't sure exactly how much power she had at the school. Dean, who avoided reading as much as possible, had only met her once before, when his class had been given a tour of the library to get books for a book report. Dean hadn't checked out any, just turned in the same book report he'd used at the last four schools he went to. It was a perk of moving around as much as they did.
This little arrangement wasn't an official detention, yet she expected him to be at the library every day at three. And even though it wasn't official, she still pulled the strings to have Sammy bussed over from the elementary school so that he wouldn't have to go home alone. The first day she offered to drive them home, in exchange for staying another half-hour to do some extra work. Refusing the offer had been on the tip of Dean's tongue -- the last thing he needed was some nosey do-gooder checking to see if they were living in a "safe and nurturing environment" -- but Dean was afraid that George would be hanging around the school watching for him to come out. The thought of George coming after him when Sammy was around haunted Dean so much that he started carrying his folding knife well hidden in his boot.
She hadn't asked where they lived, just drove up to the right motel room and said that she'd see them tomorrow. Dean noted that she kept watch until they were in the room and turned the light on, but she never tried to come in. That first night Dean had given her the standard line about Dad working late but she just shrugged and said that she knew how hard it was to make a living. The next day she had some snacks for the two of them and it was just understood that they would stay late and she would drive them home.
Dean wanted to hate it as charity but she never made a big deal out of it and no matter how long he looked at it, Dean couldn't see a downside. Besides Sammy was in his element spending an hour and a half in a library. He even talked Dean into checking out some books for him to read. That night when they got home he noticed Mrs. Mitchell had slipped in a couple of books obviously meant for Dean. Sammy thought it was the funniest thing ever -- Dean with a book. Dean was going to pretend to read them only to get Sammy to shut up about it, but they turned out to be pretty interesting. The hotel television got crap reception anyhow.
The first four days she had him re-shelve the returned books. He never saw her checking to see if he was doing it right and he couldn't decide she did so the next day or if she just trusted him to do it correctly. He suspected that she was just enough of a sap for it to be the latter, so he made damn sure he did it right. Friday, though, he and Sammy were greeted with two tables full of papers, a laminating machine and a project that Dean thought looked suspiciously craft-like. Sammy was young enough to think that gluing and cutting were fine things for a guy to do, but Dean knew better. He caved, however, when Mrs. Mitchell upped the stakes by offering to order in pizza if they stayed until the project was finished.
It wasn't as much a sissy project as he'd feared. Mrs. Mitchell was in charge of some volunteer banquet they were having Monday. They spent the first hour in the auditorium and then in the old cafeteria setting up monitors and a video feed for part of the presentation. Dean impressed Mrs. Mitchell with his ability to jury rig the old video equipment and school's closed circuit television channel into doing what she needed. When they got back up to the library there was pizza waiting and Dean got to run the laminating machine and use the industrial size paper cutter. Mrs. Mitchell and Sammy spent most of the time talking about school and different places they'd lived. Dean kept a close ear on the conversation, but didn't have to participate, which was fine with him. He was folding the last batch of nametags when one caught his attention.
"Officer Grefe?" Dean held up the tag. "Officer Grefe?"
Mrs. Mitchell nodded. "He's the lead officer on the D.A.R.E team."
Dean frowned. "D.A.R.E.?" He hadn't really been paying attention to what they were working on. He just sent it through the laminator and cut everything down to size. "What's D.A.R.E.?"
"Drug Abuse Resistance Education. It's program to help keep kids from using drugs or drinking or smoking. Police volunteers help teach the programs to all the fifth graders. This," she waved at the piles they had been working on, "is for Monday's banquet honoring those volunteers and the other members of the anti-drug task force."
Dean took a moment to process this. "You're telling me that George Grefe's father is the head of an anti-drug task force."
"Has been for the past six years."
Dean laughed.
Mrs. Mitchell looked at him, puzzled. "That's funny?"
"It's hilarious."
Mrs. Mitchell frowned, then turned to Sam, who was finishing up his third piece of pizza. "Sam, do you think you could take all the bags of trash down the hall to the elevator? The janitors will take it from there. Then go ahead and wash up and I'll take you and your brother for some ice cream on the way home."
"Cool!" Sammy jumped up and grabbed a bag of trash before he stopped and looked at Dean. "I mean, is that OK, Dean?"
Dean wanted to say no, it was obvious what Mrs. Mitchell was doing, but Sammy was so happy and this was all going to go to hell soon, anyhow. Better let the kid enjoy a little happiness while he could. "Sure thing, Sammy."
Sammy grinned and dragged the first bag out the door, singing some ridiculous song about ice cream. Dean focused on folding the nametags and stacking them on the table.
Mrs. Mitchell waited until Sammy was out the door. "I'm not going to get you to tell me what going on with George, am I?"
It wasn't really a question so Dean didn't answer.
Mrs. Mitchell sighed. "Some things are too big to be kept a secret, Dean. They're too important or too dangerous. Sometimes you need to tell someone."
Dean scoffed. "We moved here a month ago. You know where we live, how we live. Even if Dad wasn't gone on a job, I'd still look more like a bad guy than George ever will."
"That shouldn't matter."
"Right." Dean shook his head. "I can see it now: Dean 'troubled kid from the wrong side of the tracks with an absentee father' Winchester against George 'upstanding citizen and son of D.A.R.E. cop' Grefe. Who's going to believe me?"
"I will"
It was said so quietly, with such steady conviction that Dean knew, absolutely, she would. And suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to tell her, to tell her everything. How he'd missed the bus last Tuesday and was walking home when he'd seen George and two of his high school buddies dealing drugs in the football field behind the school. How they were giving away "free samples" and what they were doing with the girls who accepted. How he was just going to walk away -- after all it wasn't his concern if the idiots choose to do drugs -- but then he'd found Melody, crying and scared, standing under the bleachers.
She was two years older than Dean and her friends were the ones partying in the field, but Melody just wanted to leave and she begged Dean to help her because she was sure they weren't going to let her go. She was right. When George saw them walking away he did try to stop them, first with promises of drugs and hints of sex and then threats of violence. Dean knew they only got away because a couple walking their dog came by. Dean threatened to yell for help and bring the whole party down if George didn't let them go. Dean thought that they'd gotten off lucky.
Only the next day, George met him coming off the bus. It was amazing how much abuse could be doled out without any of the supervising adults noticing. The first day it was just about threatening Dean to keep his mouth shut, but soon he started saying that Dean needed to "play ball" and "to prove that he was part of the team" just like "that bitch Melody" had. Dean had seen Melody only once all week. She was wearing long-sleeved turtleneck and he could see the edge of bruises just above her wrists and along the back of her neck. Dean didn't want to imagine what she had to do to prove she was part of the team, but he knew that she'd never talk about any of it. George had made sure of that. Just like he was going to make sure Dean never talked.
The moment passed. Dean stared, silent and angry, at the "Officer Grefe" tag that lay on the table.
Mrs. Mitchell sighed. "So what are you going to do? I can't keep you in fake detention forever. And I get the feeling that it's only a matter of time before George goes after you through other means."
Dean's head snapped up. He wondered, briefly, how someone who seemed so completely harmless, so very nice, as Mrs. Mitchell could be so good at thinking like a bad guy. Sammy ran in, still singing, grabbed another bag and dragged it behind him as he headed out the door. Dean watched until the door swung closed. "George said I might be able to prove that I'm part of the team."
"'Prove you're part of the team'? What does that mean?"
"He hasn't exactly said."
"And if you can't?"
Dean shrugged. Shoot first and ask questions later might not work on the school grounds but it was standing policy when it came to protecting Sammy. "I can take care of George Grefe." It was a simple statement of fact.
Her eyes widened and Dean knew that she understood what he meant. She stared at him, open mouthed, for a second, then she leaned across the table, putting her hand on his. "Look, Dean, before you do something that can't be undone, I want you to think, really think. Whatever you know about George, there has to be a way you can convince others of this, some way you can tell people and make them believe."
Dean shook his head. Mrs. Mitchell may be able to think like a bad guy, but she clearly didn't understand how normal people thought. "No one will ever believe me."
"You have to do the smart thing here, Dean. People like George, they're not as smart as they like to think they are. If you know something about them, then you can bet that other people do, too. Maybe you don't have to be the one who convinces everyone. Maybe you just have to get the right person to talk and they will be do that for you." She paused, then grabbed one of the D.A.R.E. banquet flyers and crumpled it into Dean's hands. "Promise me you wouldn't do anything rash over the weekend. Just think about what I said and meet me on Monday before the banquet. You're smarter than this."
Dean wanted to believe that she was right. He had to be smarter then George -- hell a cockroach had to be smarter than George. He owed Mrs. Mitchell that much, he supposed. He could take the weekend and try to find a smart way to do this. Maybe she was on to something. Maybe he could get someone else to tell what was happening.
Sammy came back in to the library proudly proclaiming he was ready for ice cream and Mrs. Mitchell switched back to talking about the banquet and how proud she was that they'd managed to get everything ready. Dean stared a moment longer that the flyer he held, an idea slowly taking root.
Mrs. Mitchell caught Dean's arm as they headed out the door. "Dean," she paused a second to let Sammy get out of earshot, "I want your word that you'll meet me on Monday. I want you to promise me that you'll do the smart thing."
"I will." Dean looked into Mrs. Mitchell's eyes, the idea quickly solidifying into a plan . "Don't worry, Mrs. Mitchell. I won't do anything stupid. I promise."
Part Three: This was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever done, Dean thought.
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Genre: Gen
Rating: R -- Language, violence/implied violence
Word Count: ~10,000 overall, 2275 this part
Warnings/Spoilers: Preseries
Disclaimer: Fanfic, for fun, not profit.
Summary: Written for
afteriwake for the long-past-due SPN_Holiday. She wanted a story about Dean meeting a bully at school. I had every intention of doing that simple story, only it had a mind of it's own and it grew into something much longer. The basic concept is still there, just tweaked a little. I hope it still works for her, I just couldn't write a bully that Dean would actually be bullied by without taking it to this next step. Note: Posted in five parts, I plan on posting one part a day. Read Part 1 here.
Four days later and Dean was no closer to figuring out how to deal with George Grefe than he'd been on Monday. The fact that he hadn't seen him since then did nothing to ease Dean's fears. Equally annoying was that he couldn't figure Mrs. Mitchell out, either.
She was his dad's age, quiet and polite with the irritating habit of being cheerful and happy all the time. Little cutesy figures covered her desk and even more cutesy posters were tacked all over her walls. Dean had a hard time reconciling the person who made George Grefe back down with someone who would hang pictures of cute kittens proclaiming "Hang in there". She wasn't even a real a teacher, just an aide who worked in the library, so he wasn't sure exactly how much power she had at the school. Dean, who avoided reading as much as possible, had only met her once before, when his class had been given a tour of the library to get books for a book report. Dean hadn't checked out any, just turned in the same book report he'd used at the last four schools he went to. It was a perk of moving around as much as they did.
This little arrangement wasn't an official detention, yet she expected him to be at the library every day at three. And even though it wasn't official, she still pulled the strings to have Sammy bussed over from the elementary school so that he wouldn't have to go home alone. The first day she offered to drive them home, in exchange for staying another half-hour to do some extra work. Refusing the offer had been on the tip of Dean's tongue -- the last thing he needed was some nosey do-gooder checking to see if they were living in a "safe and nurturing environment" -- but Dean was afraid that George would be hanging around the school watching for him to come out. The thought of George coming after him when Sammy was around haunted Dean so much that he started carrying his folding knife well hidden in his boot.
She hadn't asked where they lived, just drove up to the right motel room and said that she'd see them tomorrow. Dean noted that she kept watch until they were in the room and turned the light on, but she never tried to come in. That first night Dean had given her the standard line about Dad working late but she just shrugged and said that she knew how hard it was to make a living. The next day she had some snacks for the two of them and it was just understood that they would stay late and she would drive them home.
Dean wanted to hate it as charity but she never made a big deal out of it and no matter how long he looked at it, Dean couldn't see a downside. Besides Sammy was in his element spending an hour and a half in a library. He even talked Dean into checking out some books for him to read. That night when they got home he noticed Mrs. Mitchell had slipped in a couple of books obviously meant for Dean. Sammy thought it was the funniest thing ever -- Dean with a book. Dean was going to pretend to read them only to get Sammy to shut up about it, but they turned out to be pretty interesting. The hotel television got crap reception anyhow.
The first four days she had him re-shelve the returned books. He never saw her checking to see if he was doing it right and he couldn't decide she did so the next day or if she just trusted him to do it correctly. He suspected that she was just enough of a sap for it to be the latter, so he made damn sure he did it right. Friday, though, he and Sammy were greeted with two tables full of papers, a laminating machine and a project that Dean thought looked suspiciously craft-like. Sammy was young enough to think that gluing and cutting were fine things for a guy to do, but Dean knew better. He caved, however, when Mrs. Mitchell upped the stakes by offering to order in pizza if they stayed until the project was finished.
It wasn't as much a sissy project as he'd feared. Mrs. Mitchell was in charge of some volunteer banquet they were having Monday. They spent the first hour in the auditorium and then in the old cafeteria setting up monitors and a video feed for part of the presentation. Dean impressed Mrs. Mitchell with his ability to jury rig the old video equipment and school's closed circuit television channel into doing what she needed. When they got back up to the library there was pizza waiting and Dean got to run the laminating machine and use the industrial size paper cutter. Mrs. Mitchell and Sammy spent most of the time talking about school and different places they'd lived. Dean kept a close ear on the conversation, but didn't have to participate, which was fine with him. He was folding the last batch of nametags when one caught his attention.
"Officer Grefe?" Dean held up the tag. "Officer Grefe?"
Mrs. Mitchell nodded. "He's the lead officer on the D.A.R.E team."
Dean frowned. "D.A.R.E.?" He hadn't really been paying attention to what they were working on. He just sent it through the laminator and cut everything down to size. "What's D.A.R.E.?"
"Drug Abuse Resistance Education. It's program to help keep kids from using drugs or drinking or smoking. Police volunteers help teach the programs to all the fifth graders. This," she waved at the piles they had been working on, "is for Monday's banquet honoring those volunteers and the other members of the anti-drug task force."
Dean took a moment to process this. "You're telling me that George Grefe's father is the head of an anti-drug task force."
"Has been for the past six years."
Dean laughed.
Mrs. Mitchell looked at him, puzzled. "That's funny?"
"It's hilarious."
Mrs. Mitchell frowned, then turned to Sam, who was finishing up his third piece of pizza. "Sam, do you think you could take all the bags of trash down the hall to the elevator? The janitors will take it from there. Then go ahead and wash up and I'll take you and your brother for some ice cream on the way home."
"Cool!" Sammy jumped up and grabbed a bag of trash before he stopped and looked at Dean. "I mean, is that OK, Dean?"
Dean wanted to say no, it was obvious what Mrs. Mitchell was doing, but Sammy was so happy and this was all going to go to hell soon, anyhow. Better let the kid enjoy a little happiness while he could. "Sure thing, Sammy."
Sammy grinned and dragged the first bag out the door, singing some ridiculous song about ice cream. Dean focused on folding the nametags and stacking them on the table.
Mrs. Mitchell waited until Sammy was out the door. "I'm not going to get you to tell me what going on with George, am I?"
It wasn't really a question so Dean didn't answer.
Mrs. Mitchell sighed. "Some things are too big to be kept a secret, Dean. They're too important or too dangerous. Sometimes you need to tell someone."
Dean scoffed. "We moved here a month ago. You know where we live, how we live. Even if Dad wasn't gone on a job, I'd still look more like a bad guy than George ever will."
"That shouldn't matter."
"Right." Dean shook his head. "I can see it now: Dean 'troubled kid from the wrong side of the tracks with an absentee father' Winchester against George 'upstanding citizen and son of D.A.R.E. cop' Grefe. Who's going to believe me?"
"I will"
It was said so quietly, with such steady conviction that Dean knew, absolutely, she would. And suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to tell her, to tell her everything. How he'd missed the bus last Tuesday and was walking home when he'd seen George and two of his high school buddies dealing drugs in the football field behind the school. How they were giving away "free samples" and what they were doing with the girls who accepted. How he was just going to walk away -- after all it wasn't his concern if the idiots choose to do drugs -- but then he'd found Melody, crying and scared, standing under the bleachers.
She was two years older than Dean and her friends were the ones partying in the field, but Melody just wanted to leave and she begged Dean to help her because she was sure they weren't going to let her go. She was right. When George saw them walking away he did try to stop them, first with promises of drugs and hints of sex and then threats of violence. Dean knew they only got away because a couple walking their dog came by. Dean threatened to yell for help and bring the whole party down if George didn't let them go. Dean thought that they'd gotten off lucky.
Only the next day, George met him coming off the bus. It was amazing how much abuse could be doled out without any of the supervising adults noticing. The first day it was just about threatening Dean to keep his mouth shut, but soon he started saying that Dean needed to "play ball" and "to prove that he was part of the team" just like "that bitch Melody" had. Dean had seen Melody only once all week. She was wearing long-sleeved turtleneck and he could see the edge of bruises just above her wrists and along the back of her neck. Dean didn't want to imagine what she had to do to prove she was part of the team, but he knew that she'd never talk about any of it. George had made sure of that. Just like he was going to make sure Dean never talked.
The moment passed. Dean stared, silent and angry, at the "Officer Grefe" tag that lay on the table.
Mrs. Mitchell sighed. "So what are you going to do? I can't keep you in fake detention forever. And I get the feeling that it's only a matter of time before George goes after you through other means."
Dean's head snapped up. He wondered, briefly, how someone who seemed so completely harmless, so very nice, as Mrs. Mitchell could be so good at thinking like a bad guy. Sammy ran in, still singing, grabbed another bag and dragged it behind him as he headed out the door. Dean watched until the door swung closed. "George said I might be able to prove that I'm part of the team."
"'Prove you're part of the team'? What does that mean?"
"He hasn't exactly said."
"And if you can't?"
Dean shrugged. Shoot first and ask questions later might not work on the school grounds but it was standing policy when it came to protecting Sammy. "I can take care of George Grefe." It was a simple statement of fact.
Her eyes widened and Dean knew that she understood what he meant. She stared at him, open mouthed, for a second, then she leaned across the table, putting her hand on his. "Look, Dean, before you do something that can't be undone, I want you to think, really think. Whatever you know about George, there has to be a way you can convince others of this, some way you can tell people and make them believe."
Dean shook his head. Mrs. Mitchell may be able to think like a bad guy, but she clearly didn't understand how normal people thought. "No one will ever believe me."
"You have to do the smart thing here, Dean. People like George, they're not as smart as they like to think they are. If you know something about them, then you can bet that other people do, too. Maybe you don't have to be the one who convinces everyone. Maybe you just have to get the right person to talk and they will be do that for you." She paused, then grabbed one of the D.A.R.E. banquet flyers and crumpled it into Dean's hands. "Promise me you wouldn't do anything rash over the weekend. Just think about what I said and meet me on Monday before the banquet. You're smarter than this."
Dean wanted to believe that she was right. He had to be smarter then George -- hell a cockroach had to be smarter than George. He owed Mrs. Mitchell that much, he supposed. He could take the weekend and try to find a smart way to do this. Maybe she was on to something. Maybe he could get someone else to tell what was happening.
Sammy came back in to the library proudly proclaiming he was ready for ice cream and Mrs. Mitchell switched back to talking about the banquet and how proud she was that they'd managed to get everything ready. Dean stared a moment longer that the flyer he held, an idea slowly taking root.
Mrs. Mitchell caught Dean's arm as they headed out the door. "Dean," she paused a second to let Sammy get out of earshot, "I want your word that you'll meet me on Monday. I want you to promise me that you'll do the smart thing."
"I will." Dean looked into Mrs. Mitchell's eyes, the idea quickly solidifying into a plan . "Don't worry, Mrs. Mitchell. I won't do anything stupid. I promise."
Part Three: This was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever done, Dean thought.
